


Slump

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "Fatal Charm," Hutch wonders why he hasn't been hitting on all cylinders lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slump

That line from _Network_ kept echoing in his head -- "Why is it that a woman always thinks the most savage thing she can say to a man is to impugn his cocksmanship?"

Well, maybe because it was.

Okay, so it hadn't been exactly spectacular. Lots of one-night stands weren't. Sometimes you got lucky, the planets aligned and everything clicked; other times you just tried to make sure she came, and then got the hell out of there when it became painfully clear that neither you nor she had any desire to see each other ever again. This particular liaison had fallen somewhere between okay and mediocre. But she'd gotten off (she said, anyway, and if she hadn't it wasn't for lack of trying on his part), and she'd been happy enough to pull him down with her again after a couple glasses of wine. True, not much had happened on that second attempt. He was tired by then, his hand hurt, and he mostly just wanted to sleep. They'd kissed a little, rolled around a little, and when she noticed he wasn't terribly into it, she'd put her small, wet mouth on his cock. She'd taken every inch of him in, which wasn't difficult, since he was entirely too relaxed. He stayed relaxed. But she didn't seem to mind too much. Not until later, when she'd told half of Metro, including Starsky, how much she minded.

Why, for God's sake, did she have to say that to Starsky?

Not that it meant anything. Diana was seriously disturbed. Hutch felt sorry for her. Maybe he'd led her on, maybe it was his fault. He never should have left that bar with her in the first place. He hadn't even particularly wanted to, but it was easier to say yes than no. It was expected. What would Starsky have thought if he hadn't acted interested?

And why the hell was he worrying about this now, when he was spending the night in the hospital recovering from a knife gash that would have been fatal if Diana had had her way? He should be sleeping, not agonizing over his sexual prowess. Or lack thereof. And he wouldn't have been, only...

Only it had happened before, to be honest. When it came right down to it, he had to admit he hadn't exactly been a raging tiger in the sack lately. Somehow, after Gillian's death and Abby's departure, sex often seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Not that he couldn't get it up; well, not most of the time anyway. It was just that it wasn't as compelling, somehow, as it used to be. No one could have been more surprised about that than he was. He loved women. And he'd been with a couple of women in recent months who'd inspired him -- Sally Hagen for one, and Kathy Marshall. Of course, he'd had company both times. Sally and Kathy both dug threesomes, and Starsky had been with him all the way. He'd felt relaxed, what with Starsky there to take up the slack, if it needed taking up. Which it hadn't. It was easier with Starsky there.

He liked Linda Baylor a lot. He felt horrible about what had happened to her. Maybe when she was feeling better, he and Starsky could show her a good time. For all her delicate features and gorgeous legs, Linda was just like one of the guys. She swore like a sailor, told hilariously dirty jokes, and handled a gun like she was born with it. Starsky thought she was a mensch. Going to bed with Linda and Starsky would be the next best thing to an all-guy threesome.

He found the thought weirdly exciting. He'd never been part of an all-guy threesome, of course. Or even an all-guy twosome, and why the hell was he even thinking about this? He turned onto his right side and punched his pillow impatiently.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, listening to the night nurse's skirt swish past in the corridor. She was a blonde, he'd noticed, passably pretty, not exactly stacked, but he'd never been much of a tit man. _God bless flat-chested girls, for when we embrace, I am closer to their hearts_. He couldn't remember who said that, but he agreed with it. He didn't want to make a play for her, though, and that annoyed him. All this ennui was getting tiresome.

He was just in a slump, probably. Maybe all he needed was to try something new and different. Go to an orgy or join a swingers club. Pay some hooker to whip him. _Take a walk on the wild side_. He smiled. Lou Reed was gay, of course, or bi or something. Now _that_ would be new.

Well, why not? It wasn't like the idea had never crossed his mind before. Maybe it'd be horrible, and he'd return to women with renewed enthusiasm. Or maybe it'd be great, and Starsky would like it, too.

He blinked. Where had Starsky come from? He'd been thinking about it in only the vaguest terms, and then his partner's face and body had suddenly intruded themselves into his half-formed fantasy from nowhere.

But it made sense, really. He loved Starsky, Starsky loved him. Neither of them was gay, but Starsky leaned toward the "if it feels good, do it" philosophy. And right now, Starsky felt guilty. Guilty about not picking up on Diana's vibes, about not protecting his partner until it was almost too late. Starsky would do anything for him. Hutch winced a little, ashamed. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of that guilt, to hint that Starsky could make it all right again if he'd just, well, help Hutch regain his masculine confidence.

Then again, he was sick to death of being noble. And who knows, Starsky might love it.

Tomorrow, then. When Starsky got there to take him home Hutch would be pale and listless. He'd hold his left arm gingerly and grit his teeth bravely against the pain. Starsky would feel awful. He'd take Hutch back to his place so he wouldn't have to face his violated apartment, and put him tenderly to bed. And then Hutch would whisper that he'd feel much better, much safer, if Starsky stayed with him, and Starsky would gladly crawl into bed too, and...

Nah. He'd just say, "Wanna fuck, Starsk?" That should do it.

He fell asleep smiling.


End file.
